Betraying Trust

by L A Dobbs

  To top it all off, his contact had left another note the night before. Kevin had had a hell of a time wording the reply to persuade them that it wasn’t the right time to lead them toward the glove.

  And now, if the FBI guy was in cahoots with Thorne, Kevin would have to be extra careful about how he proceeded.

  He picked up some aspirin at the convenience store and then drove past the new construction area, keeping his eye on the spot where he’d buried the glove. They were pouring concrete now right next to it. Hopefully, the glove would still be discoverable when he needed it to be, and hopefully, no one else would find it beforehand.

  Kevin didn’t know how much longer his contact was going to believe his lame excuses. Too bad they were nowhere near locking Thorne up. Maybe this new lead with the garbageman would speed things up.

  His thoughts turned to the thumb drive hidden in his kitchen. Was it time to take that out and give it to Sam? What if there was something hidden on it that could help them put Thorne away faster?

  He had to be really careful about how he proceeded with that thumb drive, too. How would he explain it being in his possession? He didn’t want to ruin his reputation in the police department, nor did he want to lose Sam’s trust.

  His job was becoming important to him. It had felt good to be trusted to go to the medical examiner and bring back the results of the Elliott autopsy. Maybe he would think about coming on full-time once this case was over. Now he regretted turning down the full-time position that had been offered to him before they’d hired Wyatt.

  Not wanting to attract attention, he continued past the construction site to his house, dread gnawing at him. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be another note from his contact—or something worse—waiting when he got there.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jo arrived home later than usual that night. The day hadn’t gone very well at all. The appearance of Holden Joyce had been a complete surprise and not a pleasant one. The only saving grace was that Bev seemed to be on their side. For now.

  As she pulled into her crushed-stone driveway, she spotted a ball of orange fur on her porch. The cat hunched over the dish, eating the food she’d put out before she’d left that morning. Finally, a bright spot in the day.

  She got out of the car and approached slowly, not wanting to scare the small cat off. Golden eyes regarded her warily as she sat on the porch step and held her hand out toward the cat, making cooing noises.

  The cat’s eyes flicked from her hand to the food then to the safety of the woods. It crouched further, ears flattening, ringed tail twitching as if the cat was deciding whether to trust Jo or make a break for it. Was it a boy or a girl? Jo had no idea how to tell the gender of a cat, but she got a sense it was female. Jo sat patiently until, finally, the cat made a cautious move toward her.

  “There you go. I won’t hurt you.”

  The cat came closer.

  “I’m the one putting the food out. Maybe when winter comes, you’ll want someplace warm. You’d better make friends with me,” Jo said, already picturing how she might put a cat bed on the porch, maybe even inside when the temperatures dipped below freezing.

  Mew.

  The cat sniffed her fingers, and Jo tentatively reached out an index finger to lightly scratch its head. The cat stiffened but didn’t run away. Her fur was soft and silky.

  She’d finally worked her way around to scratching the cat’s neck, and the cat had even rubbed her face against Jo’s knee a few times when the crunch of tires on crushed stone interrupted them. She looked up to see the White Rock Police Station Tahoe pulling in with Sam behind the wheel, Lucy staring out the front window.

  The cat stiffened.

  As Sam came to a stop, the cat pulled away and raced into the woods.

  “You got a new friend?” Sam asked, his eyes following the path of the cat as it bounded past Jo’s picnic table.

  Jo stood, brushing off her jeans. Orange fur clung to her knee where the cat had rubbed against it. “Stray cat I’ve been feeding.”

  Lucy trotted over, wagging her tail, happy to see Jo, then stopped short at sniffing her knee where the cat had been rubbing. She looked up at Jo, her forehead wrinkled and her upper lip curled.

  “I guess Lucy doesn’t like cats,” Jo said.

  “Probably jealous,” Sam answered.

  Jo bent down and scratched behind Lucy’s ears. “Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite.” She tilted her head to look up at Sam. “So what brings you by? Break in the case?”

  Sam shook his head. “Nah, I just wanted to get your take on Holden Joyce.”

  Jo sighed and stood. “For that, I think we’re going to need some beer.”

  Sam followed her to the door. Lucy had beat them to it and was standing at the door, tail wagging, casting disapproving glances at the empty cat bowl. She didn’t stray over to the bowl, though. Most likely, she was anticipating the bacon-flavored dog treats that Jo kept in her cupboard.

  As they passed through the living room, Jo gestured toward the couch. “Have a seat. I’ll get the beer.” She proceeded to the kitchen, pulled two beers from the refrigerator, and tossed two treats to Lucy, who caught them in midair.

  When she returned to the living room, Jo found Sam perched uncomfortably on the edge of her white-and-pink floral sofa, looking like a child in his Aunt May’s fancy living room. Jo almost laughed. Sam definitely looked out of place amidst the shabby-chic muted-florals-and-white-paint decor. He was more of a camouflage-pattern-and-natural-wood-stain kind of guy.

  “So, Holden Joyce. What do you think?” Sam asked.

  “Hate him. You?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.” Sam swigged his beer.

  Jo leaned back in her chair. “I don’t think he likes you very much either. Do you think he really has something on you? I mean, I know about the knife, but Thorne has that, so …” Jo let her voice trail off. She’d never asked the details about what had happened back then, and Sam had never volunteered. Was that why Sam had come over? He didn’t usually just drop by. Maybe he wanted to give her the full story, seeing as Joyce might try to use it against him.

  Her eyes drifted toward the bedroom, thoughts of the notes of her sister’s disappearance crowding her mind. If Sam was taking her further into his confidence, should she do the same? She could show it all to Sam right now. He might even have some ideas.

  She knew Sam would try to help, but she didn’t want to distract from the case they were working on. Besides, she was letting her past go. She’d buried her notes at the bottom of a drawer, and that was where they were going to stay. They had more important things to work on.

  Sam took a swig of his beer and sat back, his thumbnail scratching at the label as he talked. “Back when that happened to my cousin, she didn’t exactly get the justice we were hoping. It was rich kids who did it. Not just one, a bunch of them.” Sam paused and looked out the window, the pain he felt for his cousin flickering in his eyes. “Anyway, those kids had parents with deep pockets and attitudes that they could get away with anything. Some of the ringleaders were gonna get off. We went down to try to talk to the weakest link to make sure that the right people were getting punished.”

  Jo leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. What, exactly, had Sam and Mick done? “And what happened?”

  “Nothing. We talked to him. He was scared.”

  “So how does that translate to the FBI threatening you today?”

  “Next day, the kid turned up dead.”

  Jo relaxed back in her chair. “But the last time you saw him, he was alive?”

  Sam nodded and reached down to bury his fingers in Lucy’s fur. “He was gonna tell the truth about who the ringleader was. He ended up taking the brunt of the blame, even though he was dead.”

  Jo pressed her lips together. “That sucks.” Now she could see how Sam would have been driven to try to make sure the truth came out, even if it might have taken unorthodox means. He was all about justice, and she knew sometimes follow
ing the law didn’t result in justice. She couldn’t blame him.

  “Anyway, seems like Holden Joyce has some assumptions about what went on back then.”

  “And Thorne has a knife with blood on it that might be misinterpreted as a murder weapon.”

  Sam nodded. “But there’s nothing we can do about that now. We need to wrap up this case quick, before Holden Joyce has an excuse to dig deeper.”

  “Do you think Joyce could be working with Thorne?” Jo asked.

  “I don’t know. Either he’s got it in for me, or he’s working with Thorne or he has another agenda we don’t know about.”

  Jo looked out the window. The cat lurked at the edge of the woods, crouched down, peering through the trees toward the house. Maybe she would put another bowl of food out for it after Lucy left. She hoped Lucy didn’t really hate cats that much because if she adopted it, she didn’t want it to be problematic for Lucy to visit.

  “What about the FBI looking into Tyler’s case?” Jo asked.

  Sam blew out a breath. “Yeah, that could get dicey. But once we find Dupont’s killer, they’ll probably back off on that.”

  “Okay, we just need to up our game. What else can we do to prove that Forest Duncan is the distributor?” Jo asked.

  “I’ve got Mick looking into the grandson. If he’s involved, he probably knew the players. I figure if the grandson can place Duncan with Scott Elliott, then maybe we can get probable cause to do more searching.” Sam sipped his beer. “And Bev is looking into his finances. If we find something shady in there, then we can look further.”

  “Yeah. Luckily, Bev seems to be on our side,” Jo said.

  “She is now. Mostly, I think she’s on the side of justice. I get the impression she doesn’t like Holden Joyce very much, but if she suspects what Holden is saying about me is true, she’ll switch sides pretty quick.”

  Sam was right. Jo got the impression Bev didn’t put up with anyone trying to con her. Hopefully, she wouldn’t find out what they’d done for Tyler, or they might end up with a powerful enemy who could make future investigations difficult. So, they had Holden Joyce against them and Bev tentatively on their side. “What do you think about Kevin and Wyatt? Should we bring them in on everything we know?”

  “Maybe Kevin. I got the impression he was stalling for us with that comment he made about Mick’s truck.”

  Jo nodded. She’d thought the same thing. Kevin was turning out to be a valuable ally.

  “But I still don’t want to include them. Wyatt’s too new. I don’t have a good feel for him yet, and Kevin, well, sometimes the less you know, the better.” Sam chugged down more beer. “Maybe in time, we can let Kevin know what we know, but this could get dicey, and it doesn’t seem fair to get him in too deep.”

  “Hopefully, after this case is over, there won’t be anything to let him in on. All this Tyler stuff will be behind us.”

  “One can only hope,” Sam said. “In the meantime, we need to speed things up. We don’t want to give Holden Joyce any extra time to dig something up.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next day, Sam found himself alone in his office as he contemplated the case. His cell phone, set to vibrate, sat on the desk, awaiting Mick’s text. Mick had told Sam he was going to work on Barbara Bartles’s grandson. He was positive the guy knew something about who had stolen the car that was at the scene of Tyler’s death. Sam suspected Mick’s idea of work included a bottle of whiskey. He probably wouldn’t be up this early.

  Sam eyed the stack of mail on the corner of his desk. He’d been too busy to sort through it. There was usually nothing important in the stack anyway.

  Wyatt and Kevin had both gone out on local calls. Even with the murder investigation, the misdemeanors and neighbor disputes still needed tending. Jo was taking care of a fender bender by the Sacagewassett River. Sam was enjoying the peace and quiet—until a shadow in the form of Holden Joyce appeared at his door.

  Sam’s day was already starting to go downhill.

  Sam motioned him in and slid the phone off his desk. He knew people like Holden. They stuck their noses into everything. He didn’t need Holden seeing the text from Mick.

  He put the phone in his pocket as Holden strutted in, a manila folder in his hand and an arrogant look on his face.

  “Have a seat.” Sam gestured to the oak chair with the shortened leg. Holden sat, and the chair tipped forward. Holden’s brows mashed together. Sam bit back a smile.

  “What’s the status of this suspect you mentioned yesterday?” Holden leaned back, and the chair tipped again. Again, Sam refrained from smiling.

  “I don’t have anything new to report so far. It’s still early in the day,” Sam said.

  “Oh, you can’t manufacture something?” Holden asked.

  Sam leveled a look at the FBI agent. He leaned forward and tapped his index finger on the smooth top of his oak desk to punctuate his words. “We don’t work that way around here. Maybe you do that in the FBI, but here, we collect real evidence.”

  Holden leaned forward too, except when he did, the chair tipped and threw him off balance. A look of anger crossed his face. “What the hell is wrong with this chair?”

  Sam sat back, innocence plastered all over his face. “Sorry, it’s a little uneven. We got the castoff furniture here. It’s all old and broken,” Sam said.

  “Really? Or is this another example of your unorthodox methods?” Holden tipped the chair back and forth. “Makes the suspect uneasy, doesn’t it?”

  Sam was just about to reply with a sarcastic remark when Bev Hatch appeared in the doorway.

  “I’ve seen you do worse, Agent Joyce,” Bev said.

  Holden turned to Bev. “Sheriff Hatch, do you have any light to shed on the case this morning?”

  “Not much. Just following up on a few things.” Bev came into the room.

  Holden stood, hefting the manila envelope in his hand. “Me too.”

  He flipped open the folder and tossed a few photos on Sam’s desk. They were of Sam and Jesse. One of them showed the two meeting behind the auto body shop where Jesse worked earlier this summer. Another was of them meeting in the woods near the campground. Holden tapped Jesse’s face with his index finger.

  “This guy here is a drug dealer. And this meeting here behind this building looks suspiciously to me like a drug deal.” Holden’s smug gaze flicked from Sam to Bev, who was frowning at the photos.

  “Is that your contact?” Bev asked.

  “Yeah. Jesse Cowly. He’s a small-time dealer. I’ve been grooming him so I can get at the bigger fish up the chain.” Sam looked at Holden. “You guys do that all the time, right? Pass over the little guy so you can get information. He feeds you what you want to know, and you get a bigger catch.”

  Bev turned to Holden. “We all do it. I think you’re making a big assumption with these photos. Do you have any proof to back it up?”

  Holden remained silent.

  “He doesn’t, because it’s not true,” Sam said.

  “So you say,” Holden said. “To me, this looks like a drug deal. And since we got a tip that a municipal employee is dealing drugs, you have the perfect cover. You pass it on to this Cowly guy, and he distributes it.”

  “Nah. That’s not the way it played out, and I think you know it,” Sam said.

  “We don’t know any such thing. How do we know you didn’t kill both Mayor Dupont and Officer Richardson? Our records indicate Richardson might have been into something that has to do with these drug dealings.”

  Sam was surprised the FBI had such information, but they didn’t know the half of it. Richardson had something to do with the drugs, all right. He was in the middle of the whole ring. Sam didn’t enlighten him, though. The less Holden Joyce knew, the better.

  “Oh, so you’ve got nothing to say now, huh? And it’s no surprise. You’ve gone rogue before. You and your friend Gervasi. Now it seems you’d have reason to go rogue again, especially if your department is corrupt.
”

  “Now wait a minute.” Bev held up her hands. “This is all conjecture and assumption. We’re cops. We work with clues and logic.” She leveled Holden Joyce with an angry look. “And you know how I hate unfounded assumptions.”

  “Assumptions are simply theories that need to be proven,” Holden said. “Maybe Chief Mason here is trying to frame this garbageman. What kind of a garbageman deals drugs? And the guy lives in a dump. Mason probably has a whole array of people he can use as fall guys here. Maybe Dupont was onto Mason and that was what the meeting was about.”

  Bev’s face turned red. “Listen, Joyce. When you have some physical evidence that proves your accusations, then you come here and give it to us. Until then, this is all just guesswork. I don’t think Sam would be working this case like he is if he were the drug dealer.”

  “We do have one piece of physical evidence,” Holden said.

  “What’s that?” Bev asked.

  “The hair that was found inside the chamber of the gun. The only way it could have gotten in there was when the killer was loading the bullets.” Holden pointed to Lucy, who lolled in the sunshine, glaring at him. Her ears were straight up on high alert. Her body appeared to be relaxed, but Sam knew she was ready to jump at Holden if he even looked at Sam crossways.

  Bev snorted. “Nice try, but that hair won’t help you in this case.”

  Holden scowled. “Why not?”

  “It’s feline hair. From a cat.”

  Holden’s glare drifted from Bev to Sam to Lucy. He grabbed the photos off Sam’s desk and shoved them in the manila envelope. “Be that as it may, don’t forget we’re working this case hard.” He turned to Sam and jabbed his index finger in Sam’s direction to punctuate his next words. “And we will get to the real truth.”

  He turned and stalked out without another word.

  Bev stared after him, her arms folded across her chest. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s trying to frame you.” She turned to Sam, her eyes still narrowed. “Unless his accusations have some foundation in truth?”